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I ALBERT G. GREENE, I 

I <3>HitiLdeiice, 91. J. | 

ll DEPAKTMENT OF 

I AMERICAN POETRY & PLAYS. 

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' rui'ohas^id at ' the laale of the Libi ' ai'y of 




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THE 



NEW DIDO. 

7 



et nomine Dido 



Ssepe vocatumm. Sequar atris ignibus absens." 

^NEiD. — Book iv. 

" tempus secum ipsa modumqiie 



Exigit." THE SAME. 

" I'll give you sorrow — though unseen " — 
Then she arranged to vent her spleen. 

FREE TRANSLATION. 






NEW YORK: 
HENRY KERNOT,633 BROADWAY 

MDCCCLI. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1850, by 

HENRY KERNOT, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York. 



THE NEW DII)0. 



BOOK I, 



Of goods unmarketable in our tinae, 
The worst, it's pretty well agreed, is rhyme ; 
For essays, school-books, romances in prose, 
E'en though indigenous, the trade will 

" close ;" 
But they'll allow they rather would be whipt 
Than bother with a poet's manuscript. 
Our standard bards, 'twould seem, fulfil their 

end. 
In being sent, with compliments, to a friend ; 
Their works will sell, in morocco and gilt — 



4 THENEWDIDO. 

I knew an heir who had his book-shelves built, 
And not on fir'e for bibliopolic prizes, 
Ordered " the nicest — of assorted sizes." 

I choose to give this honest introduction 
To this new print-leaf-crop of home produc- 
tion 
To let the generous public understand 
Exactly what I look for at their hand. 
I know that Bryant's trade were good as lost 
Without renewed remittances by Post — 
I know that Willis wouldn't have a home 
Without a Journal general-ly in bloom, — 
And as for Halleck — though he write as 

well as 
The best — it wouldn't keep him in umbrellas. 

Now don't suppose that in so proud a clan 
I rank mvself — I am a modest man — 



THENEWDIDO. 5 

Dear Griswold, pray don't catalogue me 

" poet 
American" — I'm not — these lines will show 

it. 
Scarce up Parnassus am I yet a climber, 
But in the vale sit down, — an humble rhymer, 
Rhyming because I rather like cadences, 
And not, I trust, because I've lost my senses. 

Well — to begin : although this same be- 
ginning 
Like any other — like a tyro sinning — 
Like the great Frederick fighting his first 

foes — 
Like a boy-lover, stammering to propose, — 
Is awkward — yet I will commence — by say- 
ing 
That it was New Year's day, and there was 
sleighing, — 



THE NEW DIDO. 



As for the place, and time --'twas in Man- 
hattan 
After Jo. Nelson taught us Greek and Latin. 

The snow had gently fall'n for several days 
With intervals— wherein the sunny rays 
Had stolen out, as if to ask it why 
With its bright purity it left the sky. 
The wind was weary — else it didn't know 
The almanacs this year had given us snow, 
Its usual sport, somehow, it intermitted. 
And so sleighs were unhoused and horses 
bitted. 

First — as the moon went fading with the 
night. 

And the still clouds blushed in the morning 
light, 

The milk-and-water men, in great-great- 
coats, 



THENEWDIDO. 7 

Flapped their bluff arms and exercised their 

throats, 
Went for the pitchers, — if the cooks were 

single, 
And woke the children with their merry jingle. 

I love the race of children — though they're 

growing 
To be the ripe knaves for Time's future 

mowing, — 
Though their sweet artlessness, and love, and 

truth, 
They lose, as surely as they lose their youth ; 
Yet shall the race remain, a thing apart, 
To illumine life and cheer the saddened heart. 
When ill betides you — and above the rest. 
When you find falsehood in a trusted breast — 

Turn to the children — though the world 
grows cold 



THE NEW DIDO. 



Them j^ou can love — until about so old. 

(I have a friend who loves them rather longer. 

His confidence, perhaps, is somewhat 

stronger — 
He kisses all o'them, calls them buds of life, 
And thinks each girl a child, till she's a wife.) 

Upon my word, I didn't introduce 
The children here, to let my raptures loose ; 
I scribble on — my sole care that the rhyme 
Should happen in at the appropriate time — 
Hereafter, though at seasons episodical, 
I'll try my utmost to be more methodical. 
Let's see — where were we — ah ! the children 

— bless them, — 
There, nurse, just take them off, and wash 

and dress them — 
Return we to our tale, nor grow too serious. 
That sort of thing in tales is deleterious. 



THENEWDIDO. 9 

Now while we have thus idly been digressing, 
The day, with its events, has been pro- 
gressing ; 
Astonishing, how time flies now and then — 
" Come, let's be off — d'ye hear ? By Jove, 

it's ten !" 
Such were the words — I wish to be exact 
Throughout this story — for it's all clear fact 
Addressed to Blancker by his comrade 

Nowun, 
With something to the effect he was a " slow 
one." 

He may have been so — but his nags were fast 

That stood before the door — they always past 

The highest mettle on the closest course, — 

Their master's fame, in fact, was from his 

horse. 

You'll find this sort of reputation common, 

1* 



10 THE NEW DIDO. 

Though rather more so with the men than 

women — 
They find each other out to the heart's core ; 
About the men they often know no more 
Than that Tom's rich and dresses well — he'll 

pass — 
As for poor Dick — he's either knave — or ass. 

Yet understand me — while his reputation 
Young Blancker got entirely from his station, 
Which means his money — yet he had some 

wit, 
Displayed in words and deeds when he saw fit. 
Although he used less speech at balls, than 

dancing, 
And to Reviews preferred his horse's 

prancing, 
Yet, spite of fortune, he had common sense 
Enough to talk and act without offence 



THE is' EW DIDO. 11 

To his true friends ; — the outer world was 

bought ; 
The dazzled fools dared not speak, if they 

thought. 
Fill a man's eyes with dollars, — he obeys 

you,— 
Cuff Wealth's starved sycophant, and he 

will praise you. 

Now off they started, ploughing through the 

snow 
With their swift runners, like a vessel's prow, 
Straight on, or whirling with a half-careen, 
Themselves scarce noticed in the merry 

scene. 
Where the old Nabob's stately sleigh-bells' 

ringing, 
And the great " stage's" slow but jolly swing- 
ing, 



12 THE NEW DIDO. 

And thousand vagaries of the class " good 

fellow," 
Laughing, and shaking hands, and getting 

mellow, 
Mixed, on the snow, that now, beneath the 

crowds 
Began to look like badly damaged clouds. 

" Blancker, my lad," quoth Nowun, " Brook- 
lyn first — • 

Unlike the ancients, we'll begin wi' ' the 
worst/ " 

" No slander ! Nowun," here exclaimed his 
friend ; 

" I'll stand by Brooklyn— e'en though at our 
'end' 

They call it tame — the women are so good ! 

Why, sir, there is a church at every rood ! 

And though with much devotion I don't vex 



THE NEW DIDO. 13 

My appetite, I like it in the sex." 

" Stay !" (and here Nowun lit a fresh cigar) 

" Let me just say you assume too much by 

far : 
As for the goodness of the women, I 
That general quality will not deny. 
They're wingless angels in the main, with 

failings 
(They're blessed creatures when a man has 

ailings). 
But then, whate'er their residence or name. 
Their attributes are pretty much the same : 
A good, true woman is a gift from Heaven, 
A bad one is possessed at least with seven " 
(Here Blancker's horses gave a sudden start, 
Where the piled snow had clogged a lumber- 
ing cart). 
*' Well," he resumed, '' philosophers may 
write — ' 



14 THE NEW DIDO. 

(Good morning, Loveliest ! how d'ye do, 

Polite ?)" 
This was addressed, as he took off his hat, 
To two o' the sex that in a window sat. — • 
— " I say, I don't mind the philosophy 
Of writers on the fine distinctions, I 
Think the great difference between the sexes, 
Besides the usual one of necks, is. 
That they with features — mainly with the 

eye, 
Without the tongue, can tell as good a — " 

" Fie V 
" What do you mean ?" " Mean ? why what 

I say. 
(Just wait, dear Blancker, and be civil, pray.) 
That they are capital in pantomime. 
And can act thoughts in half the talking 

time ; 
Not that they haven't quite a facile use 



THE NEW DIDO. ] 5 

O' the little member that gives most abuse — ■ 
That they're accomplished here, / don't 

deny it ; 
If you do, just offend them once, an-d try it." 

Somehow it seemed Blancker was not in- 
clined 
To answer him — ^but, driving, sat resigned. 
Waiting until his friend should get quite 

through, 
A thing he hadn't yet resolved to do. 
Resting, till his cigar was half consumed. 
He tossed it in the street, and thus, resumed : 
" As for your close proximity of churches. 
It argues just as much as school-room birches. 
I would to Heaven the church were every- 
where, 
And men would live with hope, and love, and 
prayer — 



16 THENEWDIDO. 

Would that Paul's charity were understood, 
E'en with his help I can't call some men 

good ; • 

They are philanthropists with curious ends, 
They save the heathen while they damn 

their friends ; 
Some — born prize-fighters, schooled against 

their will 
In sacred halls, but pugilistic still ; — 
Unmindful of the trade they should be at. 
Breathe up cold murder through a white 

cravat ; 
Some "decent" persons, though they never 

dance. 
Do other things that people do in France — 
And some " good " women, though they may 

not drink so 
Much as the men, talk more — at least I 

think so/' 



THE NEW DIDO. l7 

*"' Ph — ew !" whistled Blancker, " why — 

what's happened now ? 
Such a tkade I never heard, I vow ! 
Have the fair gossips pinned you to their 

work, 
Or choked you with their bag-strings like a 

Turk ? 
I know they turn off at their clubs for scandal 
Good garments and bad names with the 

same handle ; — 
But, Nowun, I believe 'tis pretty clear 
An innocent man has little cause for fear. 
Tread light on mud, — not to keep it from 

hurt, 
But to protect a decent boot from dirt ; 
And if a woman or a knave belies you 
Just pray for them, — so at least I advise you ; 
But please enlighten me as to the occasion 
For what Til call your Holiday Oration.'' 



18 THE NEW DIDO. 

" Perhaps/' replied his friend, " you may have 

heard 
That Fm in love—'' " In love ! no !"— " On 

my word : 
I bowed to her, just now, as we came down. 
And to her aunt ; I got — a smile — and frown. 
The girl, of course, is perfect, but the other 
Who plays, in Julia's case, the part of 

Mother; — 
Don't like the idea of losing the dear girl 
(And wants, besides, " gold-setting " for the 

pearl) ; 
And though good-natured and quite often 

civil. 
Wouldn't be much distressed to hear I live ill. 
She lately spoiled the charming girl's dessert. 
By telling her she'd heard — I was a flirt 1" 

'^ Dreadful ! — in sooth a horrible report. 



THE NEW DIDO. 19 

But not as bad as some of another sort ; 
In fact, I think the women rather Hke it, 
Their fancy is romantic, and to strike it 
One must have had a love affair or two — 
Though for th' old folks perhaps it doesn't 

do ; — 
But, Nowun, hark'ye! don't you think it queer 
What naughty things these innocent women 

hear ? 
And the ' reports ' — they drop things at 

your feet, 
Like meteors — that you never thought to 

meet." 
(Had it been latterly, an illustration 
He might have drawn from the " politest 

nation," 
If Punch's graphic page may be believed 
About the ostrich, whose egg was received 
With wonder — when in her balloon ascent 



20 THENEWDIDO. 

She omitted not " the usual event.") * 
"But tell me, Nowun, now that you've 

confessed 
So candidly the feelings of your breast, — 
What will the Widow Wiggid think of this ? 
Believe me, you stand on a precipice. 
I know she thinks you're ready to propose, 
And what will be the consequence, who 

knows ?" 

Such a great, honest look of blank surprise 
As Nowun gave him with his opening eyes 
Might have o'erpowered him, but that, just 

after 
He (Nowun) burst into a fit of laughter, 
And so continued as they crossed the ferry 
Speechless, but evidently pleasant — very. 

* See note 1. 



THE NEW DIDO. 21 

Thus, then, we've got them and our story 
going. 

Our Second Book will keep them at it, show- 
ing 

(Unless the public give signs of satiety) 

How our two friends went into " good 
society." 



END or BOOK I, 



NOTE I. 

\Froi)i Punch of October 19th, 185U.) 
ALARMING BALLOON ACCIDENT, 
[From our Paris Correspondent.] 

It will be recollected by our readers, that, about a fortnight ajro, 
M. Poitevin made a balloon ascent in Paris on a live ostrich. We 
should not repeat this stupid incident, only it was connected with 
an alarming accident, which proves more than anything else, the 
danger and Mly of ballooning. 

Five minutes after the ascent, a Madame Epinard, the wife of one 
of the principal bankers of Paris, was seen coming ont of the Prince 
de J\repaule, one of the first establishments in Paris for bonnets and 
cachemires. She had, on her head and shoulders, at that very 
moment, a handsome new bonnet, and a magnificent new cachemire 
which she had been purchasing for 50,0. i6 francs, the fruits of a 
speculation made by her husband on the Bourse, and presented by 
him to his dear wile as a birth- day offering. 

She had not proceeded five steps towards the milk-white columns 
of the Madeleine, when she felt a heavy blow on the back of her 
head, which completely took away her senses, and sent her bonnet 
flying under the wheels of a passing citadine. The blow was so 
strong that the lady had only sutlicient time to run into a pastry- 
cook's and sit down in a chair before she fainted. In that helpless 
state she remained full ten minutes. When she was sufficiently 
recovered to look at herself in the glass, she was so disfigured that 
she could not have been recognised l)y her bitterest enemy. Her 
new shawl was completely spoiled ; hgr dress was ruined beyond 
the friendly redemption of either cleaner or dyer^ her parasol was a 
melancholy ruin, while it was found necessary to sacrifice her 
aloves, for which at least thirty-two sous must have been given, 
as it was utterly impossible to bathe her hands as long as she had 
them on. Surgical assistance was sent for, and the suffering lady 
recovered at list, after several hours of hysterical fits, pronounced 
perfectly genuine by all who witnessed them, to her splendid hotel 
in the Chaus«fee d'Antin. 

Public surmise is at a loss to conjecture the origin of this terrible 
accident. It was supposed at first, it was caused by some malicious 
hand — but no such thing — it was the result of the most capricious 
chance. The police immediately proceeded to the spot, and soon 
collected evidence which justified them in instantly apprehending 
Monsieur Poitevin and his ostrich. This difficult feat was accom- 
plished the following day, when the unterrifled aeronaut and his 
daring bird had to pass a most uncomfortable night in prison, some 



24 



fifteen lieues froiii Paris. They were locked up in separate cells 
so that they might not be able to communicate together. 

They hnve since been examined, and the origin of the accident 
has been fully explained. At the time that the lady received the 
hlow on the back of the he.id, M. Poitevin was passing over that 
very portion of the Boulevards. He looked down, and noticed a 
large white substance, not unlike an immense ball, f .lling to the 
earth ; it fell on a 1 idy's bonnet, but he could notiie nothing further, 
for the bnlloon shot into the air imraedintely aftervvtirds with such 
wonderful raj)idity that it required all his attention to attend to it. 

This story agrees with the version of the police. They examined 
the ground, and picked up innumerable little pieces of broken shell, 
witti which the pavement was strewn. These were produced in 
court, and they left no doubt on the Judge's mind that the accident 
had been caused by an ostrich's EaG ! It was a mercy that this 
modern instance of ostracism had not resulted in death ! 

M. Poitevin was condenmed in a new bonnet, cachemire, and 
parasol, of an equal value to those so pitiably destroj'ed, and in 
]0,000 francs fur damages done to the lady's nerves. His ostrich 
was likewise bound over to keep the peace for two years. This 
will put a stop for the present to any more Campagnes d\9iitriches. 

(The publisher of the "New Dido " would take this appropriate 
occasion of saying to the public, thnt he intends, at an early day, to* 
issue " Re})orts of Damages done to Characters liy Ostrich's Eggs 
from Parlor balloons " — provided he can find a competent person to 
edit such a work.) 



BOOK II. 

Though modern science laughs at ancient 

speed 
And does some very clever tricks indeed ; 
It gasps at Joshua's astronomic feats, 
And can't with lasting noonday light the 

streets ; 
And thus, by five o'clock, it came to pass, 
Those that walked straight walked with the 

help of gas. 

"Walked straight" — ah! there were "crooked 

walks " that day, 
And melancholy modes of being gay. 



26 THENEWDIDO. 

Old gentlemen, with sorrow be it said, 
Not from the effects of age, were put to bed ; 
And others — but enough — I'll tell no tales 
Except what I've begun — there never fails, 
And didn't, rest assured, on this occasion, 
Full food for those nice people's conversation, 
Who first ply unsuspicious guests with wine 
Then slander them because they think it 
fine. 

.I'll not describe how Mr. This or That, 
Reeled in the parlor and kept on his hat, 
With marble nymphs and Venuses shook 

hands, 
And made conges to screens and flower- 
stands, 
Or spoke to "ears polite," what, on the 

morrow, 
He half remembered with repentant sorrow. 



THE NEW DIDO. 27 

There is a class of men who, mostly, wear 
High starched neckerchiefs and exotic hair, 
Who to amusements very seldom bend. 
And to a vulgar laugh ne'er condescend ; 
(Like him some wise man saw, when, in 

afiright. 
He cried, "Be serious, boys, a fool's in 

sight!") 

Whose solemn " accidents " my muse might 

show, 
But she has themes far daintier : let them go ; 
She sings — and trusts the public will not 

doubt her — 
Not men — but one who had the men about 

her. 

She sat — the Widow Wiggid — not the muse, 
Pale — from fatigue and partly from the blues. 
She had been smiling, 'till it was relief 
To assume a temporary air of grief. 



28 THENEWDIDO. 

(You know there is a kind of satisfaction, 
In melancholy after mirth's reaction) — 
Besides, her heart now gave a reason for it. 
Her face had borrowed its sad garb, and 
wore it. 

It is, indeed, a sickening sort of thing, 
To wait for what the future doesn't bring ; 
The widow had been waiting many a day 
For what had not yet fallen in her way. 
And the last few hours, passed in expectation. 
She had looked pleasure while she felt 
vexation. 

'Tis true that all the morning, she'd received 
Flatt'ries she may, or may not have believed. 
Age, middle years, and youth — the dull, the 

witty, 
Had told her what they had told half the city ; 



THE NEWDIDO. 29 

But yet the one (perhaps there might be more) 
Whom she expected had not reached her door. 
I say there might be more — I've somewhere 

read 
About a lady bent on being wed, 
Extremely fond, it might be, of one lover, 
Still casting nets (for that might soon be 

over) 
Determined in Love's lottery to win 
Some chance — I think you'll find it in 

" Corinne." 

And now, she was alone. She had invited 
(Her kind attentions were not always 

slighted) — 
A " female friend " to spend the evening with 

her 
And sent her horses to convey her thither. 
Most welcome is it to possess a friend 



so T H E N E W D I D O . 

Who has, if nothing else, a tongue to lend. 

(I think the breed is not extinct "time- 
server,") 

But n' importe — to our widow — let's observe 
her. 

Some three-and-thirty summers (winters too, 
But I say sumniers, as most writers do) 
Had made her, with, of course, some other aids, 
The woman that she was. The bright, 

brown braids 
Lay thick as in her girlhood on her brow, 
Which was, however, slightly furrowed now ; 
And only slightly ; for her widowed life 
Had kindly healed some sorrows of the wife. 
There was no striking thing about her face — 
(The different parts being in the usual place) 
Save that her eyes, which were small, cold, 

and grey, 



THE NEW DIDO. 31 

Looked at you in a most unnatural way — 
Her other features might beam with your 

own, 
They strangely seemed to chill you — all alone. 

And now they scanned the fire with steady 
gaze, 

Seeming to search for secrets in the blaze ; 

But its stupidity, I think, she scorned. 

For very soon she turned away and — 
yawned — 

Then, influenced, doubtless, by some " wo- 
man's feeling," 

Threw back her head, and stared up at the 
ceiling. 

As thus she sat — what was she thinking of? 
Housekeeping, parties, literature, or — love ? 
She had just now been talking of these things 



32 THE NEW DIDO. 

• 

And other topics that the new year brings. 
Perhaps her gentle thoughts were fixed upon 
The jaunt she was to make to Washington 
(Drawing her income from some real estate, 
She had an interest in her country's fate) ; . 
It might be, that amidst her other cares 
She thought a moment of her babes up stairs ; 
Two sweet mementoes of her married years. 
Kissed, when they were seen, and called 

" little dears :" 
The darlings ! — when their mother was away 
At Newport, Saratoga, or the play ; — 
They wanted nothing: for that mother's purse 
Bought everything ; e'en kindness — from a 

nurse. 

If there be anything on this poor earth, 
True — lasting — and most solid in its worth — 
Pure as the sympathies of those above. 



THE NEW DIDO. 33 

It is a good and faithful mother's love. 

The cords may snap that bind all other 

hearts, — 
As parts the day from night, so friendship 

parts ; — 
The uncertain tie that's fastened at the altar 
Is often cut — -a brother's love may falter— 
But— and O atheist, here I take my stand 
'Gainst your denial of a better land ; 
Some things I know death cannot end, or 

sever, 
A mother's love must be a love for ever ! 

Some mothers are not— *I had almost said 
Not faithful— but 'tis not well bred 
Plumply to make such out and out assertions, 
And furthermore I do despise aspersions. 
Politely now, I only mean to say 
That I have noticed in a general way 



34 T ri E NEW DIDO. 

That wives who waltz all night with other 

men 
And go out with their husbands now and then, 
Are very apt, when Nature makes them 

mothers, 
To think their little blessings little bothers. 
But then, there are excuses for all sins. 
Who knows where ignorance ends and fault, 

begins ? 
Besides, what one considers very wrong 
To another's fancied virtues may belong, 
And that indefinite expression, " crime," 
Depends on statutes, circumstance, and time. 
King David's wars, of which there were 

varieties. 
Cause grave head shakings in our Peace 

societies ; 
And harmless pranks of Pachas with three 

tails, 



THE NEW DIDO. 35 

With rakes and reprobates would fill our 
jails. 

Moreover, there are very serious duties 
That women ow^e, and chiefly if they're 

" beauties ;" — 
Of late, society makes such demands 
One can't have all these children on one's 

hands ; — 
I think it's on the Ganges or the Nile, 
That babes are fed out to the crocodile ; 
The mothers there yield to a higher passion, 
The mothers here are devotees — of Fashion. 

You see our growing country's grown too 

great — 
Each year presents us with an infant state ; 
True, space is nothing with the telegraph, 
But even then we are too large by half ; 



36 THE NEW DIDO. 

Grave statesmen would dissever our do- 
minion, 
And I (hear ! hear !) am of the same opinion. 

The stubborn pilots of the North are tost 

on 
The storm that first began, I think, in Boston ; 
They'd drown that Jonah, Slavery, so 

they've told him 
(Fd hke to see the stomach that would hold 

him). 
And if he will remain, for better weather 
They'd spring a leak and all go down 

together ; — 
As for the states where all the cotton's raised, 
And the " first famiHes " (for which Heaven 

be praised !) 
They swear that as the twig's bent so the 

tree grows, 



THE NEW DIDO. 37 

And as their fathers kept, so they'll keep— 

negroes. 
They've voted troops, though what they are 

to do, 
Vm sure / can't discover yet, can you ? 
Perhaps draw teeth out of the North wind^s 

mouth, 
And, like the gouty man, tie the vanes South. 

Now these all argue on such trifling matters 
As " Shall Jake wear his own or master's 

tatters ?" 
While I most strongly urge the separation 
Because growth spoils the morals of a na- 
tion; 
As for the mark — I can't tell who'll first hit itj 
If these few lines don't answer, /shall quit it. 

" Confound this ' story-teller ' — his offence is 



38 THENEWDIDO* 

Obtaining readers under false pretences ; 
An author (out upon such scurvy tricks !) 
Begins a tale— and prates of politics !" 

Thus cries some " gentle reader :" Sir — your 

pardon ! 
Don't, I entreat you, be so very " hard on " 
Your humble servant, and he will endeavor 
To please i/ou rather than to be thought 

" clever "-— 
Although it is the fashion nowadays 
To show one's readiness in various ways ; 
Even the pulpit might be my excuse, 
It leaves the gospel and takes up abuse ; 
And better still, perhaps, there's my Lord 

Brougham, 
Who does all things to show that he can 

do 'em. 

We left the lady — surely 'twas polite 



THE NEW DIDO* 39 

To keep her solitude from vulgar sight' — 
Alone and thinking. Where her sweet 

thoughts were 
I'll not reveal — (if curious, go to her, 
She's living yet, although she may not know 
What she was thinking of some years 

ago ;) 
Where'er their way those uncaged birds were 

winging, 
Their flight was stopped by — the street door 

bell's ringing. 

The lady didn't start — she had acquired 
(A habit ardently to be desired. 
By ladies, lawyers, and diplomatists, 
And all whose projects self-command as- 
sists) 
A happy way of never seeming scared. 
And seldom could you find her unprepared ; 



40 THENEWDIDO* 

She merely moved her chair in such 

direction, 
As best might suit a dubious complexion ; 

Opened a book that on the table lay, 
And stared into it, in a serious way ; — = 
She didn't even hold it " upside down,'' 
And seem to doubt the writer with a frown ; 
As some might have done whose accomplish- 
ments 
Did not include the " fine art" of pretence, 

But, while her heart did beat a little faster, 
Looked unconcerned, and calm as alabaster. 

There was a slight brow-knitting, I confess, 
As her ear caught — the rustling of a dress ; 
But it was momentary. As she rose 

To greet her "female friend," you would 

suppose 
That in her widowed heart there was no 

place 



T H E N E W D I D O . 41 

For other friends, — so warm was her em- 
brace, 
So kind and rapid her close questionings 
About her heahh and various other things. 

They say that every person has a price, 

And bribery is a universal vice. 

'Tis calumny ! — I know there are a few 

Unpurchasable men, and women too. 

But some, I know, who would have scorned 

the thought 
Of being sold, were at the same time bought. 

A man with one hand offers you a gift, 
And with the other asks you for a " lift ;" 
Corruption, he in scriptural style pursueth. 
His right hand knows not what his left hand 

doeth ; — 
You seize them both, but fancy no connexion 



42 THENEWDIDO. 

Between the granted and received pro- 
tection ; 
'Twere base to bargain for a quid pro quo, 
There's friendship here, but bribery- — oh no ! 

Now, our two ladies never had agreed 
To serve each other in the time of need ; 
No vow, such as school-girls and lovers make, 
To dream of, cling to, ridicule, and — break ; 
Had ever bound them in imagined ties, 
" They made no promises and told no lies ;" 
But then, they had a most convenient mode 
Of mutually smoothing life's rough road. 
Suppose the widow had a project planned, 
Wherein she would conceal her dainty hand ; 
She hinted it — in silence of the night, 
And lo ! it sprang up finished in the light. 
The " friend " — whose tongue was longer 
than her pocket, 



s 



THE NEW DIDO. " 43 

Ne'er begged — friendship is tender — that 

would shock it ; — 
But — stop ! I can't talk scandal and expose 

her, 
And needn't do it if my reader knows her ; 
Or rather knew her, for we must remember 
This all took place years before last Decem- 
ber. 
They were together now, and what they 

said, 
Had it been heard, or could it now be read, 
Would show a pleasant glimpse of friend- 
ship's ways. 
Or fill a pleasant page in friendship's praise. 
But 'tis forgotten now — you see the muse 
Can recollect or not, as she may choose ; — 
She chooses to forget, and has good reason 
To palliate her trusted memory's treason, 
For such a startling ringing at the door 



44 Ttt E N E W D I t) O . 

Ne'er reached her's or the widow's ears 

before, 
As just then of new visitors gave warning — ^ 
It introduced — our comrades of the morning. 

And she received them — stately as a queen 
(The genuine article I've never seen, 
Though when a boy, I often wished to, 

greatly — 
But I have the impression queens are 

stately), 
And yet her dignity did not offend. 
They who are dignified can condescend! 
And it did really please you, when you knew 
That she was proud — to have her bend to you. 

And now she bent ; — 'twas like a graceful 

tree. 
Unmoved, yet yielding; firm, indeed, yet 

free ; 



I 



THENEWDIDO. 45 

And her fair presence, as she scattered from 

her 
Smiles, thick as rose-leaves at the end of 

summer — 
Would be a pleasant thing to write of here, 
r But then our storv must go on — that's clear. 

» 

There was the slightest— -just the slightest 

^ streak 

Of color visible upon her cheek. 

As Nowun pressed her delicate hand in his. 

The blush was charming — a blush always is. 

And as it rose, he, in a rattling way, 

Told her — how very well she looked that 

I day. 

That observation was not very new, 

And by this time she doubtless thought it 

true; 
But then it made a difference, who told her, 



46 THENEWDIDO, 

And suddenly, the little blush grew bolder. 

Well — all things end — and then a Newyear's 

call, 
You know, has hardly any length at all ; — 
The gentlemen would go. A moment — 

hold !— 
" They must ' take something,' for the day 

was cold," 
She urged them strongly — filled their glasses 

up. 
And while they drank, touched her lips to the 

cup. 
"And now," cried Blancker, and he lightly 

laughed, 
"Madam, to our friend's happiness a draught! 
He's to be married — fill up to the brim — 
Nowun's intended ! — and good luck to him! 
Good bye ! — a hundred happy years to you — 



THENEWDIDO. 4*7 

Come, Nowun — ' time and tide '- — Madame, 
adieu !" 

And so they left her ; as they closed the door, 
The tinge was on her gentle face no more ; 
The smile was there — fixed — their last smile 

returning, 
But then 'twas like a martyr's — when he's 

burning. 



END OF BOOK II. 



BOOK III. 

Midnight was on the city cold and fair, 
The sheds and lintels glittered everywhere; 
The trees, at night e'en gayer than by day, 
Were blossoming with gems and hung with 

spray ; 
In the great radiance that the stars flung 

down 
The milky way seemed fallen in the town . 

Midnight was on the city, and a glow 
Gentle and roseate quivered o'er the snow. 
It was an hour for solitude and thought, - 
For holier musings than the day had brought. 



50 THE NEW DIDO. 

For lofty resolutions — but you're yawning ; — 
Perhaps your resolutions come at morning — 
Well — 'twas an hour when, if their prayers 

were said, 
All decent people should have been in bed. 

All had not said their prayers that night, — 

perhaps 
They lumped devotion as they did their naps, 
And prayed and slept, when Sunday brought 

them quiet, 
Enough for six days' wakefulness and riot. 
And so the lights blazed out from many a 

hall, 
Old Tammany was brilliant with a ball 
Where goodly specimens of the middle 

million 
Earned their enjoyment in a huge cotillion ; 
Gay sleighing parties shouted as they met 



THE NEW DIDO. 61 

Or grew still gayer with a safe upset; 
Home-staggering roysterers, as they swayed 

along, 
Ravished the gentle night with violent song, — 
In fact the city scorned the thought of rest, 
And there was tumult in the widow's breast. • 

Tumult not joyous — pleasure has its sport, 
And passion also — of another sort. 
And now, to her, the outer mirth and din 
Seemed mockery of the anger-storm within. 

Had she not reason for chagrin and grief ? 
Had not her heart long held a sweet belief. 
That now was crushed and withered in its 

shrine ? 
Ah ! dismal ending of a bright design — 
Had not her wit and friends helped her 

discover 



52 THE NEW DIDO. 

In Nowun the appearance of a lover ? 
Had she (at least) not seen in his attentions 
What breeds (odd world) warm love or 

warm dissensions ? 
Had she not, time on time, pursued her ends 
By asking him " to meet a few young friends ?" 
Had she not, when his greeting grew more 

hearty. 
Timidly asked his escort to a party ? 
At Saratoga, when bare arms were glancing, 
And they outside the window, watched the 

dancing. 
Had she not (queer ! what put that in her 

head) 
Blushingly told him that he ought to wed ? 
Asked him if he got up to drink the water. 
Inquired his age, and asked how old he 

thought her ? 



THE NEW DIDO. 53 

And now she was forsaken — he engaged ; 

Who says she had not cause to be enraged ? 

What though by him no tender words were 
spoken ? 

What though no sort of promise had been 
broken ? 

Widows are not made out of common stuff, 

Appearances for them are quite enough ; 

A smile to-day may play the deuce to- 
morrow ,. , 

(Old Pickwick found this out, and to his 
sorrow). 



And then (our strong desires for truth 

compel us . 

To own that women are the least bit jealous,) 
Who was this girl — this Julia— for whose 

sake, 



54 THE NEW DIDO. 

If she " kept still " she felt her heart must 

break ? 
She'd heard of her before (of course she had, 
And of all Nowun's actions, good or bad, — 
Go find a widow that likes any man 
And keep his doings from her, if you can) — 
She knew he'd seen her many a time and oft, 
But pshaw !— she didn't think he was so soft ! 

Just so — of course ; but " if the reader 

pleases" 
As that sort of description rather freezes 
The kindness we might harbor for a 

stranger, — 
I'll try to guard against that frequent danger 
Of thinking people fools because we hear 
Their faults and virtues summed up in a sneer. 
And put ('tis well I have the thing at hand) 
Another kind of witness on the stand. 



THE NEW DIDO. ^^ 

Courts think it fair that both sides should be 

heard, 
Suppose, now, we let Nowun say a word. 
I have before me^ — (and I can't do better 
Than cut an extract from the same) — a 

letter, 
In which, with something of a lover's wildness 
(A fault one always should regard with 

mildness), 
He speaks of Julia in a strain sublime, 
Without, of course (and so we'll drop the) 

rhyme. 

" If you should see a picture of her, such 
As artists would call perfect, though it gave 
Each feature its true limning, — though the 

glow 
Seemed playing on her cheek — and though 

the lips 



56 THBNEWDIDO. 

Seemed parting, and did cheat you into 

waiting 
Until she spoke — that would not be her 

likeness. 
You would not half conceive her ; for she 

brings 
A calm, strange beauty with her presence 
That is not of her person ; and you think. 
When gazing at her, that there is some 

charm 
Will keep her ever beautiful and young — 
The angels grow not old. When she 

approaches 
You do not think she walks — the distance 

lessens ; 
Her laugh is like the echo of a strain 
Of music heard among the hills — her smile 
Comes to you like the sunlight when you 

wake ; 



THE NEW DIDO. 5^ 

Her large blue eyes look only tenderness 
And fullest confidence ; and when she speaks, 
Held by the silver linkings of her tones 
Your tongue forgets its answer. Her voice 

gives 
An interest and dignity to common things — 
The very chaffering of the birds is melody." 

He read this (simpletons these lovers are, 
They think the skies are lit by one bright 

star) 
To Blancker, who replied, like any dunce, 
" That he had only seen the lady once, — 
He thought she had a very pretty dimple, 
And that her manners were correct and 

simple," 

All which, as testimony, I submit 

To be received or not as you see fit. 

3* 



58 THENEWDIDO 

That she was very fair is my belief — 
Now for the widow, whom we left in grief 

A woman grieving o'er a woman's wrong, 
Grieves deeply, often, but not often long. 
Despair makes short work with the gentler 

kind, 
Revenge is balsam to the sterner mind. 

She walked the room, as if to leave her pain, 
Walked to the window, then walked back 

again. 
Anon, her lip would curl as though in scorn, 
And then drop, unimpassioned and forlorn. 
Her stepping was a study for the stage, — 
Now, all faint indecision, now, all rage. 
There was, as yet, no purpose in her wrath. 
It was the whirlwind ere it finds a path. 
Once, as she stopped, indeed, you thought 

was seen 



T H E N E W D I D O . '^9 

A stern determination in her mien, 

And you grew ready for some desperate 

trial 
Of woman's nerve, as she drew forth a phial 
Of cunning work, such as Louis Quatorze 
(And others) used, to avoid uncertain wars. 
Does she so soon intend to end her woes ? 
Be calm — she soothes her passion through 

her nose. 
'Twas only salts, and did her good ; — once 

more 
In lonely wretchedness she walks the floor. 
Walking is recommended, and with reason, 
For some complaints, at almost any season ; — 
It is a medicine, as Combe will tell you. 
Better than all the stuff the druggists sell 

you, 
But then it can't — of this there is no ques- 
tion, — 



60 THENEWDIDO. 

Cure heart-ache, though it may help indiges- 
tion. 
It didn't help the lady — ^not a bit — 
rBut only wearied her; she thought she'd 

sit ; 
And so she did, about five minutes ; then 
Unrestedj she began to walk again. 

In vain ! her wounded spirit found no balm — 
A lack-a-day ! — at least the night was calm. 
Sorrow has often found its influence sweet, 
And so she stood and looked out in the street. 

There were black chimneys, 'gainst the bright 

sky flung. 
Where silver robes on golden nails seemed 

hung, 
There was the snow, so pure the night 

before, 



THE NEW DIDO. 61 

Now soiled, and crushed, and beautiful no 

more. 
Ah ! were not dismal shapes drawn broad 

and high 
Against the hope-filled radiance of her sky ? 
And was not the pure sentiment she'd 

cherished 
Trampled upon, and all its beauty perished ? 
The very silence mocked her. Ah ! how 

sad ! 
Heaven help her, or the lady will go mad ! 
And see ! oh, kindly send her quick relief — 
She lifts the window in her desperate grief! 
And — and — by Jove — it was for nothing but 
To shut a blind the servant had not shut. 

'Twas plain that in her case the measures 

and 
The time for sacrifice were not at hand. 



62 T H*E N E W D I D O . 

But why that sudden start, what can it be, 
There's something, doubtless, worth her while 

to see — 
That with such haste, yet quietly she 

darkens 
The room, peers out into the street, and 

hearkens ! 

Three figures — surely one of them she knew. 
Aye, — and, if she could trust her senses, — 

two, 
Nowun and Blancker, who were kindly 

lending 
Aid to a friend, who seemed to need be^ 

friending ; — 
His case was one that to support appeals — 
A man determined to walk on his heels. 
Who now plunged forward, now held in the 

rear. 
With his cravat-tie underneath his ear. 



THE NEW DIDO. 63 

She had first seen the young men, as they 

met him 
And seen too, how upon his feet they set 

him ; — 
And now, she leaned out of the window, 

watching, 
(Ne'er thinking of the cold she might be 

catching) 
Watching the two friends and the man 

between them. 
Until the distance dropped its veil to screen 

them, 
Then, with a fearful smile, drew in her head. 
And (what's the poetry for it ?) — ^went to bed. 

Ingenuous reader ! if in life's bright spring, 
Your young experience is on the wing, 
Soaring, and free, and joyous, and as yet 
Unharmed by scandal's shaft or envy's net ; — 



64 THENEWDIDO^ 

If, in the ardor of warm blood, you cast 
No lingering look upon the fading past, 
But bound on, gaily plucking as you find 

them 
Joys just as sweet as those you found behind 

them, 
Stay ! (and while staying, I myself will rest ;- — 
An author's feelings struggle in my breast ! 
Ingenuous reader, wait! and let me say 
A few words in an author's usual way.) 

If the few words (I'm making here my bow, 
I'll write no Preface save what I write now) 
If the few words of counsel (though my book 
Goes to the saddler or the pastrycook) 
If the few words of counsel I now give, 
In one young mind shall strike their root, 

and live. 
If, by their early planting, riper years 



THE NEW DIDO. 65 

Shall bring forth better fruit than shame and 

tears, 
Then shall I know my labor was not lost, 
However much the printing may have cost. 

And now, Ingenuous ! heed the words of 

age. 
And let no mockery look upon the page. 
Dost boast of friendship ? drain your pocket — 

lend. 
If, unlike Cassius, you would keep — a friend. 
Soothe him you call such on his feverish 

couch ; 
Defend him, absent y — for his honor vouch ; — 
Laugh at his stories though for ever told, 
Laugh and forget, if he does, that they're 

old ;— 
In every sorrow and in every joy 
Your friend may feel, a friendly thought 

employ — 



66 THENEWDIDO. 

But — mark me ! though his friend, don't act 

as such 
If you should meet him— when he's drunk 

too much ! 
Pass over on the other side — be wise ;— 
Walls have had ears, why may they not 

have eyes ? 
Avoid the appearance of all wrong — no 

matter 
How bad your life, the appearance makes the 

clatter — 
Let others see your good works, if you're 

certain 
The good works are genteel, and need no 

curtain, 
But let not even midnight find together 
You and a staggering friend. " Birds of a 

feather." 

And now, oh ! for the pen of classic times 



THE NEW DIDO. 67 

To give a dash of pathos to my rhymes ! 
The humble fowl from which my quill was 

plucked 
In the Castalian fountain never ducked ; 
Else would I, in the true heroic verse, 
The Widow Wiggid's direful acts rehearse ; 
Show disappointed love transformed to hate , 
And hurrying on its victim to her fate. 
Her fate, not. yet, my "numbers" shall 

reveal — 
(Viands in courses for our decorous meal) — 
First let her vengeance furnish our repast, 
We'll bring herself on (dainty morsel) last. 

Look down (or up) ye shades of heroines. 
Whether your murders virtues were, or 

sins, — 
Judith the pure — Queen Bess, Helen Mac 

Gregor, 



68 THE NEW DIDO. 

Brave to behead a prince or doom a beggar, — 
Learn that your sex, for real or fancied 

wrongs, 
In these last times (like nations) wield their 

tongues ; — - 
Mark how a modern widow, being balked 
In a long cherished project, turned and — 

talked ! 

Talked, but not boldly ; that would not quite 

do ; — 
For what is boldly said had best be true ; 

Nor was it needful ; — do you think that she 
Had not discovered this, at thirty-three ? 
Where is the use of civilized society. 
Unless one learns to slander with propriety ? 
She was sagacious ; — viewless would she 

steal. 
Like Paris aiming at Achilles' heel. 



THENEWDIDO. 69 

And plunge into her victim's reputation 
That work-box dagger, — an insinuation. 

And so she didn't plainly tell " her friend" 
What she. desired should come out in the end. 
That had been "honest" in a certain sense — 
(The manner often pleads for the offence) — 
She didn't even, like the tethered ass 
That strives to crop beyond his ring of 

grass, 
O'erstep the boundary scandal oft steps over 
To feed upon imaginary clover — • 
She'd got one sweet young mouthful of a truth, 
And she ground through and through it with 

her every tooth. 

'Twas with safe questions, such as : Could 

it be 
That only one was " so," or were all three ? 



70 THE NEW DIDO. 

(" So" sounds ambiguous till you know she's 

talking 
About three gentlemen she had seen walking) 
And did her friend not join with her in 

thinking 
It sad, young men should be so fond of 

drinking ? 
Thought she Nowun's complexion was 

peculiar ? 
And had she ever seen the gentle Julia ? 
And was she really beautiful and artless ? 
And did her friend not think the men were 

heartless ? 
" And just suppose" (why not ?) " a dissolute 

man 
Engaged — what awful risks the lady ran ! 
Did not her friend think it a bounden duty 
To try and save youth, innocence, and 

beauty ?" 



THENEWDIDO. 11 

With such strange shadowings forth did slie 
contrive 

At the result she wished for, to arrive, — 

Fairly to rouse her friend, ere she was done, 

And make, as 'twere, her hairs stand one by- 
one — ■ 

To make her think she'd heard some dreadful 
news 

And make her feel, that it was meant to 
use, — 

To use (the "female friend" was wide 
awake), 

Both for the widow's and for Julia's sake. 

And she did use it — used it with impunity 
(As Nowun's absence gave her opportunity ; — 
He'd just gone on a journey of some dis- 
tance) — 
And other " ladies " came to her assistance. 



^2 THE NEW DIDO. 

Some paupers, with an everlasting grumble 
Think that because they're paupers, they are 

humble ; 
And some— born female — (which now is the 

oddest ?) 
Think that because they're female, they are 

modest. 
When hearts are modest, modest tongues 

will show it; 
Exposure's shameless — and true women 

know it ; 
They who the veil from character would 

tear 
Would do acts far less decent— did they 

dare. 
And they who bring a hideous thing to light 
Merely to gratify a morbid sight, 
Never allow it to appear alone 
But daub it with vile fancies of their own. 



THE NEW DIDO. 1B 

And SO one awful story got about 

And other stories quite as true no doubt. 

The scandal by so many mouths was blown 

That by its earliest friends it wasn't known, 

They took it up again as something new, 

And wondered, really, if it could be true ! 

Some kind souls did their utmost to dispel it 

By telling everybody not to tell it ; 

And others used the world's way to defend 

That unsuspicious fool — an absent friend — 

('Tis thus that friendship often cuts our 

throats) 
" Poh ! poh !" they cried, "can't youth sow 

its wild oats ?" 
One spinster, decorous, plain, and literary, 
Whose name appeared each year as secre- 
tary 
Of a genteel, benevolent society 
(One can't do good without some notoriety),, 



74 THE NEW DIDO. 

Whispered it to a sister, long since married, 
In whose abode the useful spinster tarried, — 
Tarriedx to help her in her many cares 
Of other people's and her own affairs. 
This sister had a nephew — only one — 
Whom she regarded tenderly, as a son, 
And knowing Julia, thought (the old 

manci^tiverer) 
That the young fellow would exactly do for 

her. 
And now thisjady suddenly grew wise, 
And saw a pas4 event with " opened eyes." 
You see, her, *' family" doubtful of their 

station 
Were striving after double elevation^ 
Aspiring to, a ful^ure place on high 
And to position ere they reached tk^ sky — 
(The angel-usher will assign that " leaven" 
Of course the fashion able part of heaven)-— 



THENEWDIDO. 15 

And Nowun (she had not forgot it yet) 
Once ridiculed some foibles of her " set ;"' — 
She then had put it down as impudence, 
But now she saw the gist of his offence. 
Her duty made her active, and straightway 
She called on one of Julia's friends that day, 
Told her she'd heard some stories and she 

knew 
From observation that they must be true. 
She'd seen him once — of course she was 

surprised 
And grieved — but he seemed terribly " dis- 
guised." 

Next Sunday she was heard, responding 

loud. 
Unto the ninth commandment with the 

crowd. 

END OF 5 0K IH.^ 



1% 



BOOK IV. 

There is, we're told, a time for being glad, 
And also (how it rhymes !) for being sad. 
Nature, by whom all proper poets swear, 
Is but the gayer for her hours of care; 
And from her tears to-day doth even borrow 
A perfume for her gala robes to-morrow. 

Julia had passed — ah, what a dismal time ! 

Quite a tornado, in a sunny clime — 

The day was spent in sighs, the night in 

sobs, 
(What argosies that pirate, Sorrow, robs !) 
Until her lover, hastening from his jaunt, 
Called, with a famous lawyer, on her aunt. 

5 



78 T H E NE W D I D O, 

Then, when such patience as you rarely 

see — 
Love prompts it not, nor hatred, but a fee — 
Drew from that lady, as a dentist might, 
The secret her unwilling lips held tight. 
To wit : (my muse will talk in legal phrase 
When lawyer-doings mingle with her lays) 
The authors of these criminal reports; 
(Pity they were not brought up in the courts) 
And they, — preferring out-and-out retrac- 
tion 
To that uncivil thing, a " civil action, — " 
Remembering that a suit the purse enfeebles, 
And gives perplexity fits, like Peter Pee- 
bles'— 
Swallowed, in canine sort, like bread and 

butter, 
The words their lips had not disdained to 

utter. 



TH E N E W D I D O . 79 

Then (vanish lawyers, and all vulgar things! 
No more of you the Muse, exalted, sings) 
Julia, forgetting her distress and pain, 
Smiled, like an April landscape after rain. 

Her female relative smiled not : her joy 
Was grains of gold to ounces of alloy. 
No rising sun dispels one mortal's gloom 
But slants athwart some other's waiting 

tomb. 
The niece took heart, to hear the tales were 

false ; 
The aunt fell sick, and took — a dose of salts. 

She ne'er had loved ; to her that passion's 

flames 
Seemed folly's fire — her life had nobler 

aims! 
Sprung of a sire whose energetic mould 



80 THE NEWDIDO. 

Transformed the vulgarest substances to 

gold, 
She proved the purity of her descent 
By showing how the money could be spent, — 
Moved, at that sire's demise, as was most 

meet, 
From the dimmed regions of her natal 

street. 
And when a year had calmed her sorrows 

down, 
Burst on the world in a new house up-town. 

Here, like Napoleon — was it not he ? 
Turn the historian's page, my friend, and 

see — 
" To gain an end she left no means untried," 
And to her purpose even bent her pride ; 
Employing (like Napoleon, for position) 
A fashionable carriage, pew, physician. 



THE NE W DIDO. 81 

She trod proud steps her feet ne'er knew 

before. 
And bought her way through many a haughty 

door. 

Nor this alone : as genius ever finds 
Some aid in rising from inferior minds, 
So the extent of gilt frames on her walls, 
And the luxurious couches in her halls. 
Drew the poor artist and the humble bard. 
Whose hopes were lofty, but whose fare was 

hard, 
(The knaves ! where will not such attrac- 
tions take them ?) 
To parties, sparkling as champagne could 
make them ; 

And the world, judging from the picture 
frames. 

And from some guests of hers, who then had 

names. 



82 THENEWDIDO. 

Called her a friend of letters and of art — 
A slander that she took quite in good part. 

But then came Envy, with its poisoned 
toijgue, 

And doubts upon her "quality" were flung; 

Ill-natured people said she used bad gram- 
mar, 

And swung her foot, while talking, like a 
hammer; 

Said she sat on but two legs of her chair, 

And spoke oft of " this here," and of " that 
there ;" 

And one or two old persons would inquire 

If she were not the daughter of her sire ? 

I've seen the beggar, when your alms he's 

had. 
Return a coin that he considered bad ; 



THE NEW DIDO. 83 

I've heard the urchin, when he stole a ride, 
Damn the slow driver, like the man inside : 
We can excuse their low ingratitude — 
But how can well-bred people be so rude ? 

Outrageous was it! xlnd yet, who that 

drinks 
Ambition's nectar from its poison shrinks ? 
She shrank not. In her secret soul she 

laughed. 
And, calm as Socrates, the mixture quaffed. 
Did she not know, e'en as she drained the 

chalice, 
She had the power to thwart their vulgar 

malice ? 
Did she not know that every homebred cavii 
Is swallowed up by European travel ? 
She travelled ; best rebuke of envy's sneer ! 
They talked no more — because she couldn't 

hear. 



84 THE NEW DIDOo 

There have been fools, for wit to Europe 

sent, 
Who came back greater fools than when 

they went. 
Not so with her. She sought out Florence, 

Rome, 
And other famous cities^; and brought home 
Some mantel ornaments, jewelry, and clocks, 
Besides a French maid, and a lap dog, and 

some frocks ; 
And * * * * street was a forgotten quarter, 
Sunk in a summer's trip across the water. 

And all this time, with loving hearts around 

her, 
She ne'er had loved ; and eight-and-forty 

found her 
With not a drop of true affection wasted. 
And life's most bitter, sweetest fruit un- 

tasted. 



THE NEW DIDO* SB 

She had been wooed ; there were men then 

in Kfe, 
Who searched the Hall of Records for a wife ; 
And she had kept long letters, fiill of oathSj 
In hair trunks, in her garret, like old clothes. 

And now she grieved o'er the approaching 

marriage J 
Julia was useful to her, like her carriage, 
Or other piece of furniture ; and gloom 
Would brood hereafter in her drawing-room; 
And her good company would note the 

change. 
And feel uncomfortable, cold, and strange, 
And be less pleased with one another's face ; 
Neither could dollars fill the vacant place. 

Ah ! she was to be pitied ! Let us here. 
If we have not yet done soj drop a tear ; 

5* 



86 fHENEWDlDO. 

Yet, let it mitigate our grief to know 
That she recovered a long time ago. 

Enough of Julia's aunt and Julia's self, 
Too long the widow has been " on the shelf.'* 
Pardon, kind widow ; and at length, though 

late, 
We will do justice to thyself and fate. 

Reader ! if, worthy of that name, thou hast 
Read history wisely, and the mighty Past 
Lives and moves for thee like a present 

power ; 
And in thy saddest or thy loneliest hour 
Thou art not all depressed, nor quite alone ; 
Memory for thee has a far-echoing tone, 
Wafts thee, perchance, grieved at oppres- 
sion's wrong. 
From Macedon, the Greek's triumphant song ; 



THE NEW DIDO. 8*7 

Points thee, when confidence seems at an 

end, 
To noble Damon and his noble friend ; 

And, when some " protest " still a doubt 

begets, 
Tells of a novelist who paid his debts. 

And thou hast learned stern lessons, doubt- 
less ; truth, 

Shining through ages on thy path in youth, 

Showed thee the dangers of life's later days: 

Not, like the blind, thy guided footstep 
strays. 

Thou hast learned lessons — this among the 
rest : 

Of earth's few, transient joys, to seek the 
best ; 

And, seeking these, should fortune thwart 
thy plan, 



88 THE NEW DIDO. 

At any rate, to get the best you can. 

The widow had learned this. I will not 

swear 
That she had read a great deal, or with care ; 
Her early education, though, had taught her 
Why Jacob first took Laban's plainest 

daughter ; 
And though these days of rapid population 
Forbid polygamy in any station, 
Yet, as life's marriage-sands are so soon run, 
'Tis well (she knew it) to make sure of one. 

She gave a party, asking ('twas select) 
Every unmarried man she could expect. 
^Twas quite a grand affair indeed, though 

some 
" Very nice persons " didn't choose to come. 
Those were the simple times when 'twas the 

vogue 



THE NEW DIDO. 89 

To frown upon the most successful rogue ; 
Some had not learned, as yet, with questions 

bland. 
To take the prosperous villain by the hand ; 
They, when a woman's word was proved 

untrue, 
Forgot her gossip— and forgot her, too. 

Yet, 'twas a grand affair. The higher classes 
Boast many homely belles and noted asses ; 
Their fathers' virtues drew a blast from 

fame — 
Perchance those virtues gave a street a 

name — 
And they their worthy sires devoutly bless, 
And quite excel them — in the art of dress. 

And there were others — orbs of lesser 
spheres — 



90 THENEWDIDO. 

Whose greatness had shone forth these last 

few years, 
Brought out by circumstances — rise in stocks 
Or city lots ; together with hard knocks. 

And there was a display by either sex ; 
White covered hands and white uncovered 

necks ; 
And every kind of person, save the kind 
That now-a-days one doesn't hope to find ; 
Numa found one — -feat worthy of a Roman ! 
A sensible, and yet a silent woman. 

The widow looked around upon her guests. 
Ah ! little thought the wearers of white vests 
That she was learning, from their slightest 

tone, 
What admiration might be still her own. 
But she found out ; and found that all her 

train 



THE NEW DIDO. 91 

Had dwindled down to one obsequious swain. 
Poor Pashuns! Ne'er had lover tried to 

soften 
A lady's heart so long, nor failed so often. 
Five times refused, and yet, with hope still 

strong, 
Pashuns, thou wast rewarded, though thou 

waitedst long ! 

She did it in the supper-room ; grew bold 
And "took up" his last offer, some weeks 

old; 
Caught his responses 'mid the din of forks, 
Whilst others only heard the champagne 

corks. 

•Tt* TP *«" TV* "W" Tt* 

And she is wedded now, and calmly shares 
With him her cheerful gossip and her cares. 



92 THE NEW DIDO. 

Long may he share them ! " Heaven bless 

their store ! '' 
And may she ne'er become a widow more ! 



THE END. 



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